the traveler

in my next life

i will be
a gypsy

live in a tent
made from petals
and jewels

sing all the words
on a butterfly’s

whisper secrets
to each phase
of the moon.

in my next life

i will
bear witness

paint the night
with humanity’s

crunch bones
in my teeth
for sustenance

birth hope
in the form
of trees

reveal nothing
to everyone

and everything
to no one.




In honor of National Poetry Month, this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.


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